Why?

For years I thought the 1992 song “Why” by Annie Lennox concludes with the question “Do you know what I fear?” (it’s “Do you know what I feel?”). I’ll go with the imagined lyrics as we make our way through Av and set our sights on the ascent to Yom Kippur, the holiest of days.

I fear death. And it’s so comforting that our faith doesn’t skim over this fear. Go there, I hear in my heart, a gentle Divine whisper not a harsh command. There’s still sacred work to do, and places to explore with my love, and days with the sand between my toes, and moments in my children’s life I hope to witness, and times I want to remind them that they are safe and to trust themselves to be themselves, and Shabbat light I want to see flickering in Stern Chapel, and long talks with dear friends, and…and…and…

I think of a passage we often read on Yom Kippur before the prayer Untaneh Tokef by Rabbi Ed Feinstein (selection): “…I sat in shul for years reading these words before I realized the answer. The answer to each of these questions is “me.” Who will live and who will die? I will. Who at their end and who not at their end? Me…When I die it will be at the right time, and it will also be too soon. Fire, water, earthquake, plague? In my lifetime, I’ve been scorched and drowned, shaken and burdened, wandering and at rest, tranquil and troubled. That has been my life journey.”

Living with a diagnosis and cancer treatment, living with grief, and so many human realities, is living with the trembling of Unetaneh Tokef in all seasons. Rabbi Amy Eilberg writes: “In a sense, Untaneh Tokef invites the whole community into the truth with which sick and grieving people live everyday…like a shadow moving on, a cloud passing by, mere dust in the wind, a dream that flies away. This is the truth, and there can be comfort in standing in the sacred circle of community affirming it, at the same time committing to savor the fragile gift of life we are given.”

My fear of death will never evaporate or be buried under my faith. Rather, it can exist as my commitment to savoring the fragile gift of life grows with cultivation and care. My fear of death will wax and wane, it will be, and once I allow it to exist as something that doesn’t have a life of its own, a rushing flood that consumes, then I have more space to find comfort, strength, and connection standing in the sacred circle of community, on Shabbat, on Yom Kippur, and on this very day.

Over thirty years ago, this Los Angeles curly haired teen sang at the top of her lungs with friends, Annie Lennox’s words:

These are the contents of my head
And these are the years that we have spent
And this is what they represent
And this is how I feel
Do you know how I feel?

Yes. I know how I feel, and what I fear. Thank you, God, for the gift of this precious day, the 4th of August, the 17th day of Av.